Chapter 651: Ophelia

Above the Castillion Estate in Shengcheng, a piercing cry shattered the afternoon silence, casting a massive shadow across the polished marble pavement.

A towering, fearsome griffin descended from the clouds, dragging a lavishly decorated carriage. The bronze sea-horse crest gleamed in the sunlight, as if alive.

The carriage landed with steady grace.

The heavy wheels rolled over the marble path like treading on cotton, producing not a single sound inside the cabin.

The iron gates slowly opened; servants stood at attention on either side of the path, as if fused with the hedges behind them.

Only Lady Nicola was an exception—ignoring the constraints of her crisp uniform, she hurried to the carriage door.

As the head maid who had served the family for two generations, she had nearly watched Ophelia grow up, treating her like her own daughter.

"Miss, you've finally returned," Lady Nicola said, her voice trembling slightly as she gazed at the young woman's face, once again bathed in Shengcheng's sunlight.

Small leather boots touched the tiles; Ophelia removed her travel cloak and gloves, handing them to Alicephite, who waited nearby.

She lightly shook her golden hair, cascading like a waterfall, and smiled at the tearful Lady Nicola.

"It's been a long time, Lady Nicola. How is my father's health lately?"

"His Grace is in excellent health—he returned from the northern hunting grounds just two weeks ago. Had you not suddenly decided to come home, he likely would have gone again."

Gazing at her beautiful, unchanged daughter, Lady Nicola's eyes curved into crescents; she restrained her excitement and continued.

"You are the only person he truly misses—he mutters your name several times each day."

"Is that so?" Ophelia looked up at the massive white birch door of the main house, smiling. "Then take me to him at once."

"Please follow me!"

Following the head maid, Ophelia passed through the familiar garden, where rows of neatly trimmed hedges formed maze-like walls, surrounding the bronze sea-horse fountain that symbolized the Castillion family's unshakable authority.

Everything remained exactly as she remembered—each leaf seemed precisely pruned, showing no sign of change.

After passing through the hall and corridors, Ophelia reached the study door.

Her hand had barely touched the brass handle when that piercing voice pierced through the slightly ajar door and rushed into the hallway.

"Oh! Ophelia!"

André Castillion leapt up from behind his large rosewood desk, face beaming as he opened his arms to his daughter.

"You've finally come back! Ha, let me see—are you taller now?"

As Ophelia stepped one foot into the study, her brow twitched slightly. She handed her hat to the waiting servant and sighed helplessly at her father, whose fingers still clutched a cigar.

"Father, you're smoking again in the study."

"It's a cigar."

André's smile froze for a moment, then he quickly set the still-smoldering object beside a crystal ashtray.

"This is premium-grade cargo from the continent of Gana—unlike the common stuff ordinary people can buy—"

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is enormous."

Watching his daughter settle onto the sofa, André sat across from her and continued confidently, "I asked my physician—it's good for your health…"

A servant lifted a silver teapot and poured each of them a cup of black tea.

Steam curled above the tea table.

Ophelia lifted her cup, gently blew away the floating leaves, and sipped—the taste of home.

The rich aroma carried a faint bitterness, yet it eased much of the fatigue she had accumulated on her journey.

Yet this did not stop her tongue from continuing its sharpness.

"Please tell me the exact source of this 'health' wisdom—I'd be delighted to speak face-to-face with that physician about the legal statutes concerning deception of imperial nobility."

André dramatically clutched his chest, as if struck by an arrow, yet the smile hidden in his wrinkles did not fade.

It deepened with quiet satisfaction.

"Alright, Ophelia. It seems you've truly grown up. That little girl who used to cry and demand things now knows how to wield rules. Your father is deeply pleased… but let's talk of something else—how have you been these past two years?"

Meeting her father's expectant gaze, Ophelia paused briefly, then spoke lightly.

"Not terrible, but not good either. Prince Corin didn't stay long at the Academy—he left for the south. I even flew all the way to the Snow Plains to find him."

"The south…" André stroked his beard, thinking for a moment, then asked with feigned seriousness, "The Kingdom of Luo De?"

"It's the Kingdom of Lei En!"

Ophelia shot her father an exasperated look.

"More precisely—it's the Campbell Duchy under the Kingdom! Father, you really should study geography. Otherwise, people will say the mighty Castillion Duke can't even tell where the kingdoms are on a map."

André shrugged.

He didn't believe anyone besides his daughter would dare offend the Castillion Duke over such trivial matters.

Besides, he wasn't the only one ignorant of this backwater—such smug provocations always ended in self-inflicted pain.

"I sent you to the Academy to learn, not to return and mock your old father," he leaned back on the sofa, unconcerned. "If a place were truly important, the Castillion Duke would know it. Since I don't know, it must be unimportant."

Ophelia wasn't surprised by his answer—she merely sighed.

"Then do you know a chaos crisis has erupted there recently?"

"I've heard rumors."

At the word "chaos," André's attention sharpened. He recalled for a moment, "Judge Himenez just returned from the east—the disturbances there were loud, but I hear the issue has been resolved. The Saint Clement Cathedral even held a triumphal ceremony for the returning judge. Had you returned sooner, you might have caught it."

"They clearly haven't touched the core of the problem. The situation there is far more complex than Judge Himenez saw."

Ophelia set down her teacup, sat upright, and her expression turned serious.

It was a look André rarely saw on his daughter's face.

And because of that, his ever-smiling eyes now held a sharper scrutiny.

"Oh? So you know something?"

Ophelia opened her mouth.

Prince Corin's secret, revealed to her, was almost on her lips—if true, it would shake Shengcheng to its core.

Yet just as she was about to speak, an instinctive intuition pulled the words back before they reached her tongue.

Would her father truly take her seriously?

The man who needed a moment to recall where the Kingdom of Lei En lay on a map—could he possibly care about the people suffering there?

Or put another way—

Would the Castillion family really, against all opposition in the Senate, shift the family's and its allies' focus from the golden trade routes of the Vortex Sea to the profitless Old Continent for a group of unknown borderfolk?

Especially when she had no evidence.

Her father would only think her mad and lock her in the estate for months. Even if things changed dramatically, it could all be blamed on the incompetence of the Saint Clement Church.

After all, the Inquisition had just been there.

For the Senate, locked in power struggles with the Inquisition, this was far more profitable…

"I… don't know."

She turned her head toward the window, toward the flawlessly trimmed garden, and spoke calmly, "But I assumed that as a pillar of the Empire, the Castillion Duke would know something."

The Empire…

André laughed aloud.

He looked at his slightly petulant daughter, feeling both affection and helplessness.

"Ophelia, my daughter. Terrible things happen every day—people starve, die of sickness, are devoured by monsters. Even Saint Sis cannot attend to every detail… and we are merely mortals?"

"So you mean it's better if we do nothing?" Ophelia stared at him intently.

André explained patiently.

"I didn't mean that. But we must distinguish priorities… and never interfere rashly in matters under the Saint Clement Cathedral's jurisdiction without preparation."

"Then what is priority, and what is secondary?"

Ophelia showed no intention of letting the question go.

André no longer avoided it—he cut straight to the point.

"The sacred mission of Saint Sis is primary; lands abandoned by the gods are secondary. Chaos erupts because the locals neglect their faith. We've warned them countless times—what have they done?"

"You mean they brought it on themselves?" Ophelia's voice carried dissatisfaction.

"Isn't that obvious?"

Seeing her still ready to argue, André raised his hand to cut her off.

"Enough, my child. Reality is cruel. Put plainly—only matters in Shengcheng matter to us. If we don't focus here, the bronze sea-horse will lose its luster, and we will drift from the center of the world, replaced by others."

"Saint Sis only favors those closest to Him—not just today, but since the day He came into being… Perhaps I should have told you sooner. I've protected you too well."

Silence fell briefly in the study.

Ophelia looked at her father—the once-omnipotent figure in her eyes—now cold, strangely alien.

She suddenly felt drained.

All the stories she had wanted to share—the thrilling adventures within the labyrinth trials—lost all desire to be spoken.

Seeing Ophelia's faint disappointment, André seemed to sense the tension and shifted his tone to one of feigned concern.

"Still, I'm glad you didn't let your useless sense of justice lead you into foolish, family-worrying risks."

"Do I look like the kind of person who'd do that?"

Ophelia took a deep breath, smiled again, and casually tossed her golden hair over her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Father—I'm not a child anymore."

André nodded, his smile nearly filling the wrinkles around his eyes as he gazed at his sensible daughter.

"I'm pleased to see your growth, Ophelia. As for Prince Corin… I'm sorry. Your father and he are merely business partners. Had I known his father, perhaps I could have used my seniority to help you. But you know—we're separated by generations. I can only offer minor favors."

Ophelia showed no emotion, no expectation—only her usual blunt, unfiltered sarcasm toward her old father.

"It's fine, I don't need your help—just don't cause me trouble."

No sooner had he spoken than the duke across from him clutched his chest again, as if he'd just swallowed an entire unpeeled lemon.

His look of profound anguish could earn him a salary at the theater—too bad the only audience remained unmoved.

André awkwardly lowered his hand, picked up his teacup again, and used the act of drinking to mask his embarrassment.

"Alright, if it makes you happy. I have no special demands of you... except that tomorrow there's a banquet welcoming you home—you must attend. As for the rest of your time, you may dispose of it as you wish."

"No problem."

Ophelia agreed quickly.

But before her father could finish his tea, she changed the subject.

"But I have a condition. I want to establish a merchant guild, and I need startup capital—roughly one hundred thousand gold coins."

"Puh—"

The black tea André had just swallowed nearly shot out of his nose.

He stared at her, wide-eyed, as if seeing his daughter for the first time, his gaze sweeping over her.

The leap was too great.

Just returned from the highest academy of magic, the bastion of truth and arcane arts, and now she wanted to dive into the stinking sea of commerce?

"This... but the banquet is for you—does your father have to pay for it too?"

Sensing these words lacked sufficient weight, he pressed on without pause.

"Besides, Ophelia, the Castellion family's wealth is enough to buy half of Shengcheng—we don't need you to appear in public. Such matters are usually left to agents. For nobles to descend into the marketplace is neither wise nor dignified."